"musters" poems
No more than a rumor
Or a legend spoken in whispers
Mischievous folklore
Foretold around campfires
About a man
Skin black, birthed under an Eclipse
Who stalks the dark forces
Casting his might over them
Fending off the evil
Which festers across the land
Bleeding gold ink
That soils the crop and livestock
Wherever life thrives
Evil musters its footprints
But wherever it may be
He is there
Baffling their kin
Striking like thunder
Swift and silent
Like the humming katana
Making clean kills
And fading back into thin air
Being seen as a ghost
When more is known of him
For he is flesh
Great in heart
And vibrant in sight
As the father of judgment
Carrying out his given cases
That are closed by his steel hands
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
The beauty in a bow will only show
the rancid flavor it musters when it opens it's throat .
With bland intentions of subjects but loud quirks , its grey eyes will shower you with gloat.
Sheepish , arched lips will saunter you a hiss.
Your pupils get lighter and the lies get higher.
Fond of their beauty in substance of looks , only will you find the meaning in books.
Will you rattle a smile on a hook when your success won battle with your humble good looks.
The vain that slithers out of your mouth wont be a match for whats out and about.
Check again looks don't overcome meaning but meaning overcomes gleaming .
So give me a higher reason for not being to dreamy?
Self-centered, no i remember , it's not the center in my last November.
Last time i checked the cab looked its best on the exterior and on the inside lacked of a barrier.
Now look again at the vain heart , covered with smudges and a bland start.
Look in deeper all you talked was about you, i checked again and please don't lie and tell me it isn't true.
i'm insane and you are too , if one is narcissistic then baby its you.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
To ensure his feelings eternally endure,
he musters a misty memory of her,
as he gazes out over the open ocean
and into the unforgiving night sky.
He recalls her intoxicating perfume
of that final encounter
and the way her erogenous eyes entranced him.
He realizes that he remains entranced, enamored, to this day.
He refuses to lose vision of the woman from across the sea.
"Come to me," he whispers.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
She is a young girl
Who cry tears to sleep
In darkness her body curls
Falling apart as she weeps.
It is not the first time
The lullaby she heard
It has been quite a while
Since she last laughed.
Screaming of a woman
Beaten by her husband
In the night of suburban
Her body bleeding wound.
The girl musters up courage
Runs while he hits the wife
Break into neighbor’s place
Plea for dear mother’s life.
Police arrive in minutes
He is caught for violence
Finding mother’s heartbeats
Have gone in silence.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
I found my light
in not doing what's expected of me,
but in doing what's best
for a 7 year old
who lost his baby sister
and his train of thought
when counting to 20
because iPads download games in seconds
but it feels like years he's watching an ad
depicting guns and blood and dying and
every time he points a finger at a friend
the law tells me
I have to call his mom
who has no response to
"I just didn't feel like doing math today,"
but musters up every ounce of energy
she doesn't have
to expel one weak statement-
"We must do what is expected of us."
They tell me that restraint
is 3 seconds or more
of student resistance
and teacher persistence
but while my hand never touches him
my words wrap around his legs
telling them to stop pacing
and they cover his mouth
telling it to stop singing
and when he cries in the hallway
at 9:52, screaming,
"I hate this school,"
I cannot explain to him
how lucky he is
to be surrounded by adults
who fake a high tolerance
for his constant fidgeting
so instead we sit in silence
until his anger runs out
and my heart rate slows
and we are ready to try again.
Later, he hugs me.
I do not pull away.
This is not restraint.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
A subcutaneous doubt musters and you itch
The shore line depression is here without hitch
A sea of harps instigating an emotive atrophy
You discharge and you dive with certain alacrity
There is a boat afloat out in the briny of spite
Oar-less and holey amid the bark and the fight
You plunge and you quaff as you leave quiet behind
A clamber and a climb and inside you will find
Ruckus and roar as you rock with each crash
Thunder and hail as the waves tempestuously lash
Gladden with the grim elation preserves you
Mirthful and drugged whilst the wet pours through
To the most aphotic of waters that drags you deep
The boat now just wood unto rocks in a heap
Too eager to leap and now too weak to swim
A stoical sink under madness to dim
The seashore despair was a lie to itself
The still and the shielded brimming with wealth
Never attempt to weather a storm
Of a storm as endless as that of that storm
A wish that you stayed a want that you listened
You’d still be where her green eyes glistened
Where love and the good is now once tendered
Most is best left as how it’s remembered.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
He gently creeps into her room
to rest tenderly near her side
while thoughts of melancholy zoom
in ~ of his once vibrant bride
she's been there for him
so many, many years
he sniffles~and tries to hide
the sorrow and the tears
she has been injured and hurt
but has lost the fight
she will not make it through the night
she will be in paradise by tomorrow's day
he reaches to sniff her best skirt
holds it tight~ it smells of her perfume
he drags over to the vanity to spray
her familiar scent around the room
he cradles her head within his arm
then musters an adoring smile as he whispers in her ear,
"Time travels fast, and I will see you in a while, my dear"
He provides her warmth by stroking her hair
he wants to capture this image of her there
he wants this moment painted on the wall
so that he can always,always recall
how peaceful she seemed while adrift somewhere.
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 1:09 PM UTC
The time of the shining of
Wind-summered grasses, has passed,
-To the lark-breast mottle-
The harvested skin of the
Senescent land
The candle-snatch gutter of
Hurrying wing sees
The last of the coin
That was minted in thatches
Of deepwood
Of latticing bramble
Of crumbling eve.
The mourn of the Moorland
Has feathered a will
With the clot of the Ash,
Where a heather of cinnabar
Freckles the splash of
a simmering tarn
As gravelling Easterlies
Peel the cling of
The verdigris fades,
Some twilight of sepia
Musters the pastel
of Wintering calm.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
a foreign feeling migrates in.
in with the winter winds
it comes.
ready.
raw.
musters strength.
guiltily building up.
it move from the
core of being
outwards.
pulses like liquid heat
poisons the blood
swallows whole
its innocent host.
runs rampant
exposure in spurts.
unwanted attention.
shameful movements.
anger and hate.
anger and hate.
rage.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 3:09 AM UTC
Love is a hell of a drink.
One sip and it makes
you brave enough to
think you can win
against the world.
It also makes you
paranoid and panic
out of your wits as
you stare into the
eyes of obliteration.
But that’s what love does;
it musters courage and
summons the monsters,
then mixes it into a terrifying
concoction called risk.
I know you’re scared.
I am scared shitless, too.
Let’s get drunk together,
What say you?
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 7:39 AM UTC
nearly
"with close kinship, interest, or connection; intimately"
~~~
it's n-early for natty,
dressed for gym penance in his
dress blue
sweats
but instead of working out,
he's working out
a gymnastic, mental, laboring problem,
that the muse mistress musters him out
to out,
and to attend to
the birthing of t-his
composition
a re-erupting volcano that
has gone and got him good,
now he's a man intimately
possessed,
with completing, recording,
an unabbreviated log of
oh so long ago's,
a list of the
oh so many
nearly
line items in his
life's lineage
nearly
went a whole life lessened by being
love less,
which always calculates as
a life lived
forever insufficient
nearly
was intimate
only
with tears self-shed,
on a single pillowcase in
a double bed,
that was unfulfilled,
no intersecting
humanity
nearly
permanentized
kinship
as a
dictionary definition official
for a
sunken vessel,
a drowning one man scull,
racing toward a finish line
that had no visible
finish
nearly
lost both sons, lost years, lost friends
lazy living in the slow, low heat
of a burning hell
of zero connections,
thinking the proper cost/benefit solution
was always,
never to be
greater than,
always
less than one
nearly
packed it in,
while overlooking a temptress river,
calling me out swiftly from the
slow lane of loneliness,
offering a
nearly
certain final outlet sale,
a mark-down event,
for clearing the heavy, overladen shelf
of over-weighty
al-one-ness,
a sale of singular single
cell marks upon human flesh
nearly
died a miserable man,
and still may,
from who knows what
pestilence consumption
but
***never
from never knowing,
for the lacking of,
the unadulterated love
of a good woman***
and that is
more than,
greater than,
>
all the unknowable
nearlys
and more
than any other
nearly,
life may yet
deny me,
or
curse me by
~~~
6:45am
Jan. 18, 2016
NYC
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
She wears it well—
Better than any designer label.
Her eyes shimmer
With the slightest tear,
And a lifetime of tragedy.
She keeps it together,
Musters a smile,
And a “thanks for coming”.
She wears it well.
A hug and a kiss,
An “I’m sorry for your loss, miss”.
A thankful nod back
Into her practiced shell.
She wears it well—
Grief, that is.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
August is never lost to Summer,
she shares in her sphere of circularity
Calendula's a by-word for prolonging,
dead-heading vies with the flush.
Lunaria's prized seed pods' legacy's boon.
In redolent contemplation.
Autumn bulbs eagerly secured.
Amongst them Colichicums a wondrous shrub
for late September's appearance.
Like a Stallion, August's canter masquerades
the truest of challenges ,
for the final hurdle.
By means of subtle suggestiveness
Russet subsumes the Red.
Blue musters a tired
muddying Purple.
Yellow bleaches
as though touched
by the exertion of congruity
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
They whittle us down
until we are nothing more than a whisper;
a croak.
My flesh is balsa wood—
“pliable,” said the boss.
“Easy,” said the judge.
Men are born with knives.
Behind closed doors,
they carve.
Their chests swell as they set satisfied knives
on solid walnut desks, glossy with
the oil of money,
spit of secretaries,
greasy fingers.
No one
musters the courage
to knock.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
Tiers set to impress
Stress best the tears and ***
Together or separate
Still a well coveted mess
But the best of the rest
Catch death by way of breath
Followed closely by movement
From the mouth, teeth, and neck
Word upon words
Precipitate from pain
Chasing hollow hope-ways
Where fears fall free like rain
Yet while the inner chapel's laughter
Does mock every sinner's chapter
Internal combustion musters
The will to breathe soon after
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
"*in how many languages are our spaces salvaged, or is there a difference?
when our lips meet, will we be speaking the same words?*"
down some hall, she musters empty breath, unchanging lamps,
unflickering glint. he takes heavy& soundless steps. books
rearrange, every so eternal. so too do permute the walls, shadows,
patterns, and blotches of rain on the window. only a steady
and unequivocal pulse. the breath and heartbeat of the night's
containment. they mutter questions to bricks. they stand
still under streetlamps, frequently. as the gutter's rivulets
traverse, this town unfolds, like a map along the seams;
"along knives' edge, we exist," unheard, but still agreed upon
by some convoluted scheme. the handle around a corner,
lost from sight. evaporating memories. a season or second
feel the same, hiding behind doors & curtains. pale in
comparison. but, this has been here forever, or at least
four hours. "*our slivers of humanity are laid out in
slight movements*", once the inside begins hollowing. all
facets brimming with nothing. where once there was a
shuddering between walls rest expanses, unchanging.
each blade of grass, a glistening distance. each swaying
tree, splintering to essential motions. each muffled conversation
a jumble of letters. even glance and skin dissolve
to fragments of blinks.
-*a bird sings on a windowsill,
a gentle breeze.*-
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
He's only 9 years old
so his mother thinks being on the brink of suicide
which she thinks about as much as she blinks
is totally oblivious to her son who is actually more in-sync
Then she knows or cares to know
cuz it would hurt her soo much
to know that every time she left the room to cry
he knew that she was
But we tend to think our kids
are more out of touch
or maybe we just hope
So her son like her copes alone cuz
He's only 9 yrs old
and doesn't know what to say
But psychologically it's damaging
As his emotions get away
From his control without a father
To guide him like he shoulda been
And his mom says his father died
but he knows she lies to protect him
From knowing he's unwanted
And as time goes on
All of this pain has build up putting
A timer that after so long
will set off a bomb
So as her son comes home from school
he heard his mom crying
And it has made him feel like a fool
So as he musters up the courage
he Walks in the bathroom door
To see his mom curled up in a ball
Crying in the corner on the floor
Where he sees the blood dripping
Off her arm where it withdrawls
Infront of her and On her so
He runs to her and falls
in her lap knowing the act that
Was Tryin to be done
So as he cries with her he
Looks in her eyes and says "mom "
I'm sorry for everytime I heard u
Cry, it was dumb not to
come find you and hug You
and tell you I love u
I'm sorry I never said that
and dad Maybe gone
But I'm still here and I'm not leaving
So please don't leave me mom
I know you think I don't know
All the things that I know
But I know a lot I just don't know
How to help stop it so
Its ok and i know dad isn't dead
I know He left cause of me
And I'm sorry that I ruined things
Cuz maybe he wouldn't leave
If I wasn't born, and thats what
left her torn which was enough
To make his mom totally lose it
As she tries to say his dad leaving was
Not his fault but
She couldn't breath let alone talk
She felt alone for so long but this
Time her observant son Left her in shock
And as they sit on the Floor crying,together,
her son says I'm always here if you need me
But plz mom promise
You'll never again try to leave me....
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Things aren't the same as they once were.
Perverted, our connection, you and I
due to the nature of an incident I procurred.
I miss the endless adoration once pure,
now muddled with a **** up and a "bottom's up!"
I raised the glasses, the bottles, the steins,
witholding truth, I ended with a bolsterous hiccup.
I laid in bed that night, in a drunken stupor,
covering my cold body with a sheet that lied,
hoping to move past so I shan't become part of a looper.
Alas, all was finally revealed and I to blame.
A fool to follow the masses, I couldn't find my own ground.
I should've fought harder, but now, I only feel shame.
I tried to embrace for that's all I knew what to do,
She shoved me into a wall, tears trickle down her face,
And all those barriers that I once broke down,
are now being rebuilt in what feels like the original place.
I don't know what to do.
I've lost all the trust.
Actions over words, she says.
Hit, Stay, or Bust.
I'm trying, lord knows I'm trying,
but in the dead of night,
when no one can hear,
I sit in the bathroom,
failing at holding back all those tears.
"I'm sorry, babe, I'm sorry."
Those words mean nothing now.
Words. Can't. Fix. Everything!
She loves me, which is why she stayed,
giving me a chance to fix the error of my ways.
She musters a smile, but I know that heart of hers is frayed,
but I'll find a way to prove to her that I am what I say:
The man she fell in love with, built on promises of old,
And if I may be so bold when I say, that I promise
our little sweet peas, will learn from this story and uphold,
the honor I had to fight for, and the lesson I had to be told.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
I arrived earth shattering
Nails in my heels
Ready to crack concrete
Unwilling to be moved
Feet firmly on the ground
With a stubborn dignified silence
Or a speech I'd rehearsed
For the past three years
Unsure of which I might need.
He sits down in front of me
Gaze avoiding
Looking as if he can already sense the bitterness
Already feel the heat
Of all the space between.
He orders something unfamiliar
And I wonder if it tastes like regret
Finally drinking down the consequence
He poured for us both
All those years ago.
In his face I sense a shame
And I think I'm supposed to be smug
That this is supposed to be the retribution
I craved for so long
This meet -
Him, with his cup of bitter
Me, dealt a dose of sweet.
I'd always envisioned this was the time
I'd finally taste some vegence
But all that's here is bittersweet
Saturating the space around us
Like there's no way to divide.
He musters some courage to look at me
Green eyes pierce
Just as fiercely now as they did back then
Stare right through the pupils
To the insides of the girl
Who's heart he ripped from it's chest.
I can't even fight it
It so immediately burns through
All the pain
All this strength and all this healing
Every scrutinised thing
I'd spent the last three years dealing with
The never ending proverbial glue
I'd used to forge myself whole
Suddenly becomes redundant
These cracks shining through.
My feet are no longer steady
I've forgotten all that made me reborn
I was supposed to find my voice
Salvage this final rise
With an opportunity to bask in integrity
And finally leave it behind.
Instead I am 22 again
Mesmorised
Stomach churning
He always did have the ability to melt the ice
I built myself on
Like no one else I've ever met.
I hold his gaze a little longer than I should
He reads my eyes like a familiar book
And I know this game
And how it ends
But my heart is thumping his name against my chest
So loudly
It drowns out all the memories and words
I've sat with every day since he left.
I purposefully forget to remind myself
That he's the worst idea I ever had
Because I'm staring at his lips
And all I can think about
Is how much I want them on mine.
His mouth always did taste like hope.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
There was this girl who fell in love with her best friend.
When the friend came out to her,
She said absolutely nothing,
The friend never knew how she felt,
Four years down the road,
She finally musters up the courage to ask her out.
And so they’re happily dating.
I fell in love with my best friend
Three years ago,
At fifteen.
The other girl is eighteen now.
I guess that adulthood gives you courage
To do some really daring things.
I wish that I had the guts to do that,
Tell someone how I feel.
But it is so very hard to.
And I know the answer i wish for
And I know the answer
Which I’ll likely receive.
They are not the same thing.
But maybe,
When I’m eighteen,
I’ll get the courage to ask,
And love what happens next.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
A broken woman holds many secrets,
Like an ocean with many unknown creatures lying deep in the darkest depths of the sea,
She holds herself like a glowing stallion,
Tall and proud,
Yet she is fragile like a wilting flower,
Despite headaches & heartbreak,
She still musters an undeniable unrelenting love,
Many awe in her glow,
Yet many throw away all that she gives,
She rises day to day chip on her shoulder,
Stitch on her heart,
But still produces enough love to raise children,
Be kind to those who are homeless,
And even those who are undeserving,
An injured woman is a vault of many secrets, worries and sleepless nights,
She's beautiful in all her colors,
Just like a bird with broken wings,
A butterfly without dust to her wings,
INCAPABLE to fly,
Yet she can STILL live & survive,
Although she can never take flight.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
What a fool to have loved, and love again.
To walk through puddles indoors,
Just to step outside onto hardwood floors.
With an ache in his step,
And a wonder like a child's,
Will he ever realize,
Somethings in life just aren't worth while.
With each moment collapsing,
Of and ***** so taxing,
One can only wonder,
is there something wrong...
...with him,
Or her,
With love or life?
Why do the best things make it hard to sleep at night?
Why does his greatest joy always carry such sorrow.
Rivers over flooded, no hope for tomorrow.
A future so elegantly constructed and nurtured in his mind,
Slowly deteriorates with every second of time.
Passing is the wind, the day, the night.
Faces swimming in a sea of numbers,
But destined to walk alone toward his grave.
Buried alive he screams for mercy,
And prays,
To a love he can't fully explain,
In hope for some clarity and guidance,
For matters one in the same.
But stationed on this plane of existence,
At this moment,
wandering in pain.
He musters up enough courage and drive
So as to reclaim,
That confidence that once was,
To carry him to his loves embrace.
Is he a fool?
Yes...
But he wouldn't have it any other way.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:01 AM UTC
Hate is a strong word that musters a listened repetivness....
Why beat the same drum must get tiring or you feel old...
Truth be told I cant hear you.... Out of cherished choice.....
Your distant taunts make the best of your lost voice....
Where I am a person worthy of kindness and affection....
Will be left in your lies of perfect perception...
You can not hurt me I can finally leave by decision....
Well i guess you can have your won mission...
Ill be gone and you can love your Korean joke......
Be left at night to ***** and tokes...
While you hate and say in not the perfection you chose...
All i will leave is the sound of a door ill close.....
Behind your hate and constant disaproval...
I built a machine capable of my removal.....
That is all no more words no more promises....
Eventually everyone will get sick of absorbing your losses....
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC